men, poetry

the devil has no fur

The devil has no fur

Nor horns

It is gnawed and emasculated,

Glistening stitches

Tucking everything away

He is a breath held to the

Point of agony

He speaks of the micro

Small, bitter worms falling

From his thin lips

Sexless, cold and wet,

He keeps the receipts

And denies the refund

People ask for

Without explanation,

All the pieces you gave,

Kept away and the phantom

Pain stays with you,

The devil is not a man

Or a woman,

Which, as he stands there,

Smiling with exquisite agonies,

Makes him

So

Much

Worse

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